


as long as you let me

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The wedding takes place on a June afternoon.





	as long as you let me

**Author's Note:**

> i am in the worst writing funk ever so if you have any comments at all i would be really appreciative!!!!!

 

The wedding takes place on a June afternoon, the air awash with golden sunlight and the heady scent of camellias, sunflowers, and lavender.

Even though Jisung can only see his back, he knows that Jaemin is beautiful. He’s wearing his military uniform, a new one, freshly washed by the maids and pressed free from wrinkles, a military uniform that had never seen the blood and sweat of battle. A wine-red cloak with golden tassels at the hem drapes from his shoulders like a veil, the train so long it seems to spill to the ground and soak through the earth. Its silken material almost slips from between Jisung’s fingers as he bears the train, but he holds tight, white-knuckled.

As they step into the church, the light takes on a different quality. The light outside is unrestrained, sprawling like wildflowers over the hills of a foreign land, but the light in the church is colder and more controlled. It doesn’t seem to matter, though; Jaemin looks beautiful even in the thin gold of candlelight. 

Jisung is so transfixed by him that he stumbles, still white-knuckled as he holds onto the train, tugging on it slightly as he tries to regain his balance. Soft gasps echo throughout the hall and Jisung flushes with embarrassment, his face turning as red as the cloak. But Jaemin doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps walking as if nothing happened, only acknowledging him for a brief moment as he turns his head slightly, Jisung barely catching the corner of his mouth quirked up in a soft smile. He tightens his grip and looks down. The cloak wrinkles under his touch.

It’s only when they reach the altar does Jisung let go. He doesn’t want to, and he has to pry each individual finger away before he’s able to join the rest of the bearers on the pews, but Jaemin waits for him. 

The wall behind the altar is windowed from floor to ceiling in stained glass depicting a landscape flowering in spring. Petals of coloured light shine onto Jaemin. There’s a green shard on his cheek. There’s a red one just below his lips. Jaemin reaches forward and takes Jeno’s hands in his own, holding them delicately. The place where they touch is blue. 

The priest smiles at their hands and begins to speak. Jisung takes this as his cue to look to the floor and close his eyes. He can’t watch. 

Red is imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

 

 

 

“May I have this dance?” 

Jisung looks up from his untouched plate of cake to see Jaemin smiling down at him, holding his hand. There’s a silver band on his ring finger, now. Jisung swallows and looks up.

“My prince?” he chokes out.

Jaemin rolls his eyes and pulls Jisung out of his chair. “As your prince, this is an order. You will dance with me. Tell me, Jisung, do you like it slow? Or something more exciting?”

The ring is cold against Jisung’s skin, but Jaemin’s skin is searing. Jisung fears that his touch will leave behind a scar that will never heal, but he’s too weak to pull away. He lets Jaemin whisk him off to the dance floor. He lets Jaemin pull him close, his hand settling on the dip of his waist, not too close to be improper, but friendly. Intimate, even. 

He leans into the touch, eyes darting to the side to see who’s watching them. Jeno’s standing by the orchestra, Jaemin’s red cloak in his arms, his thin crown slightly slipping off his forehead. Lost. 

“Slow,” Jisung says, looking away. “Slow is exciting.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin leans in, breath tickling Jisung’s ear. “I find strings terribly boring, but don’t tell Jeno I said that. He wants to pick up the violin.”

“He’s the future king. Should he not be picking up a sword?”

Jaemin laughs. “That’s what I said! But he’s going to be king. He can do what he pleases.”

He can, Jisung thinks. He can do whatever he wants. He can start a war. He can lead a thousand men to their deaths with the click of a finger. He can marry Jaemin. 

Jisung had told himself he wouldn’t be bitter, but the light press of Jaemin’s ring into his side just reminds Jisung that they don’t belong to each other. They had spent their childhoods together, but they don’t belong to each other. They had kissed each other once — a sweet, forgetful once — but those kisses don’t belong to Jisung anymore. Jaemin is _his_ prince, but Jaemin doesn’t belong to him. 

The orchestra settles and the strings come in, a slow, melancholic song, something like rain or sunlight. Jisung’s eyes flit over to Jeno standing beside them, watching them dance, following their movements. He catches Jisung’s eye and smiles, and Jisung can’t hate him. Not Jeno. Not lovely Jeno who wants to play the violin rather than sword fight. Not lovely Jeno who sees his husband in the arms of another man and smiles. 

It’s terrible, Jisung thinks, falling in love. Then, he pulls Jaemin in closer, and falls some more. 

“I don’t know why you asked for a slow song,” Jaemin says. “This is… well... sad. It almost seems as though we’re saying goodbye.” Jaemin looks down at Jisung, then steps backwards to twirl him around. “We’re not saying goodbye, are we?”

Jisung doesn’t have an answer. Not yet, at least. The strings pick up again, and Jaemin steps to beat, slow and sure. Jisung follows his movements. Lost. He doesn’t know this song, and wonders with each step he takes, if this’ll be the last. If this’ll be goodbye. Jaemin’s arm curls tighter around his waist, and when they spin, it almost seems as if the world dissolves around them into a flurry of gold and flower petals. There are worse ways to say goodbye, Jisung thinks. 

But then he looks up at Jaemin’s eyes glittering with hope and candlelight, and finds that he can’t let go. Not yet.

“This isn’t goodbye. I will stay, my prince, for as long as you let me.”

 


End file.
